


From Both Sides Now

by takhallus



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - High School, Loss of Virginity, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-23 03:21:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2532230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takhallus/pseuds/takhallus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Nick both relate the early days of their relationship, when Harry is in sixth form and Nick is older.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nick

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mozartspiano](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mozartspiano/gifts).



> I've messed with the ages so that Nick is only 22 while Harry is 17. The format of the fic is a bit unusual but I hope you like it!  
> Please note that I am a UK writer, and 16 is the age of consent in the UK. If someone having sex under 18 upsets you, please click your heels now.

The first time I saw him I knew I was in trouble. It was his smile first, then his lips, then his eyes. I was going through a phase of writing my thoughts down in a moleskine notebook and I wrote ‘Lips like Christmas, Eyes like Spring’. What a ponce I was. I knew I was in trouble because he was young, he looked young. He was in a pub but he was keeping a low profile and he was drinking coke. He looked about seventeen. He was seventeen. I was 22 and I looked older, I think. I was staring at him, and suddenly he was looking back but I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t. He looked a bit confused at first, then he smiled, and I smiled. And I was gone.

I didn’t speak to him that night, and I didn’t see him for three weeks. I started to wonder whether I’d ever see him again. Maybe he was down visiting family. Maybe he lived abroad. Maybe he’d been hit by a bus the second he left the club. I started coming up with all kinds of scenarios in my head. I’d sit on the train and imagine him getting on and sitting with me. I’d obsess about whether he’d walk into the shop where I work, and I’d wander round sometimes imagining which clothes would look good on him. I actually bought a jumper which I thought would suit him. How stupid is that? I spent twenty quid on a jumper just because I could see him wearing it, and it somehow made me feel closer to him, like I was adding in a part of a jigsaw puzzle which didn’t make sense right now but would eventually. Maybe that’s why, when we finally met, I acted like it was meant to happen. 

It was back in that same pub, the Railway. I was waiting for my friend, she was late but then she always was. I was messing with my phone, re-reading my notebook, making a pint of lager last when he walked in, He was with his family, I assumed they were his family. A pretty looking dark haired woman, a blonde girl who looked a bit older than him and a bloke with a moustache. My stomach actually flipped over and the hairs on my arms stood on end like my body had been waiting for this for so long that it couldn’t wait to react. I was chanting ‘look at me, look at me’, in my head over and over. There was a sign saying ‘Please wait here to be seated’ and they were hovering around it, looking off into the dining room part of the pub. The girl was fidgeting and he was glancing round. He had his back to me, so without even knowing I was doing it I put my glass down heavily so it banged on the table. He turned and saw me, his mouth fell open and I felt sick seeing his face just as I remembered it. It felt so ridiculous that we weren’t running into each others arms, it felt crazy that that wasn’t happening, because I’d imagined it so many times. He gave a small, shy smile, then the waitress came and he followed his family to their table. I could see them from where I was sat but I couldn’t tell with my bad eyesight whether he was looking at me or not. He told me later I was staring right at him and he was staring back. I waited five minutes, felt like an hour, then I got up and walked towards them. I could see him start to react as I got closer, he picked up his fork and put it down, like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. I walked past their table, gave him the smallest little look, then went into the toilet. I waited in there by the sinks, and a few seconds later, he walked in.

When I saw him close up, I immediately realised what a stupid plan it was. I mean what was really going to happen? It was 2pm on a Wednesday in a chain pub that sold food, it wasn’t exactly backstage at the NME awards. He looked at me, I looked at him and he just blurted out ‘Do I know you from somewhere?’. I’d never heard his voice before. It was a slow drawl, that featureless Cheshire accent with none of the spikes and melody of a scouse one, and none of the boldness of a Mancunian. It was soft and quite deep and I wanted to hear him moan in it. 

“No, I mean, I’ve seen you in here. Before.” I didn’t know what I was saying. I didn’t know what I wanted him to say back.

 

He nodded. “Maybe I’ll see you around this week. I’m off college. It’s half term.” He made a disappointed face and I thought that was funny. He couldn’t keep the cringe off his face. I smiled at him and said I’d be here on Friday, and then he said nodded again and said ‘see you later’. Then he left without having a piss. 

I must have run that that stupidly short exchange through my head about five hundred times over the next few days. It affected everything I did. It distracted me at work, it made me do a load of washing so I’d have options of what to wear. It made me not eat because I was too busy thinking. It made me come into my own hand when I imagined that voice saying wicked things to me, whispering in my ear. 

When Friday came I couldn’t decide what to wear, I couldn’t decide whether looking really hot would intimidate him or not. I almost wore the jumper that I’d bought for him, but in the end I just wore something comfy so I wouldn’t be fidgety and weird. I was there at seven on the dot, and he was already there, with his friends. I had no idea what to do so I made a meal out of ordering at the bar, asking tons of questions and trying to engage the bored barmaid in conversation. Suddenly I felt him next to me and I turned round. He was all groomed and perfect. That’s one of his ‘things’, he doesn’t call them kinks. He gets himself all shining, buffed, moisturised, neat and clean and then he likes me to tell him how pretty he is. His brown curls were shiny and bouncy, he had a bit of concealer over one of his spots. He’d tidied up his eyebrows and he was wearing a close fitting black jumper and black jeans with brown ankle boots. He had a silver ring on. This was the style he’d develop later, when he was in his twenties, and this was the first time he’d ever worn stuff like this. The other times I’d seen him he was in baggy jeans and sweatshirts. I kind of wished he’d worn that. He looked stunning and I was the one who was intimidated. 

He said hello and I bought him a coke. We sat together in a corner, out of his mates’ eyeline. At first it was so awkward but then I just smiled and said “Well, this is nice” and he laughed loud and full like he’d been bottling it up. That was when I found out his name. It was the first time I said his name and it made me want to cry. I wanted him so much, and with every second we spent together I wanted him more. He made me laugh, he was sweet and open and I made fun of him and he laughed at me. I wanted to hold him and I couldn’t, but I thought I might get to see him again. I thought maybe one day I could give him that jumper, and never , ever tell him when I bought it. He wasn’t drinking so he never lost his inhibitions that night. I didn’t let him drink with me until we were definitely going to fuck. I thought he’d need it, to relax. He wasn’t drunk when we did it, but he was on the way. I remember thinking that the first time I saw his mum after we did it. I’d taken her son to my house, her baby, and I’d given him alcohol and fucked him. I could barely look at her and it took a few weeks for me to get over the guilt. Five years when you’re the age we were is not five years in the real word. Between 31 and 36 it was nothing, but that first date, when he shouldn’t really have been in the pub in the first place and I’d already finished uni, it seemed like a lifetime between us. 

We stayed there until ten, then he said he had to get back. He said he had an early start the following morning, working at the bakery, but I knew his mum had probably given him a curfew. I didn’t meet her until we’d already been seeing each other for a month. We hadn’t moved past the kissing stage, he never asked to and I didn’t dare mention it in case it scared him off. I had to teach him how to kiss, he’d gotten into some terrible teenaged habits. He said he’d practised on one of his mates, he never told me which one but I’m guessing Louis, and he’d kissed a few girls in the woods near his house, mainly on dares or because they’d asked him and he didn’t know how to say no. He’d do all the normal things, swirling his tongue in a circle, being too wet, opening his mouth too wide. I told him to copy me and I showed him how to kiss me properly. I’m the only one he’s ever kissed properly. In those first few weeks all we did was kiss, lying on my bed, never at his house, fully clothed and just kissing, for hours. The first time we kissed, when I had to stop him and show him how, I thought he was going to cry. I had to pull away from him, because it was awful, and his eyes went glassy and his breath hitched when I said “No, let me show you, not like that.” I think he thought I was going to dump him, then and there, and that he’d have to leave my house and walk all the way home trying to not to cry. When I saw he was upset I laid it on thick, humming and stroking his back while I kissed him, waiting for him to copy me. “You’re so gorgeous,” I said. “You’re so pretty darling.” Maybe that’s where this ‘thing’ of his comes from. He soon got the hang of it, he wanted to kiss me every second we were together and I never stopped him. 

I don’t know why he suddenly decided kissing wasn’t enough. Knowing him he’d planned to lose his virginity when he was eighteen and not even his teenage libido could override a solid Harry plan. He’d get an idea in his head and he’d make it happen. He’d asked his mum could he stay at a friend’s after his birthday party. I think she knew it was me and what was going to happen, but she still said yes. I love Ann for that. At the time I was mortified at the thought that she knew what we were up to, but now I realise she must have trusted me, or she’d never have let him stay over. He hadn’t drunk a lot at his party, maybe three bottles of lager. When we got back to mine he’d brought the champagne someone had gotten him and opened it. We only had a glass each but it was strong, the good stuff, and his movements started getting looser. He’d never asked could we fuck, he just asked could he stay over, even though my parents weren’t going to be there. I got condoms and lube anyway, just in case, because I knew him pretty well by then. I’d tidied my room up and made it nice, borrowed some pillows and a throw from the spare room that my mum keeps nice for guests. I had some candles ready to go. I wanted it to be nice for him, and I think it was. He looked into my eyes all the way through, he looked so in love. It put me off a bit at first, I felt the weight of expectation on me, he’d always remember this, his whole life, and we’d jumped straight from kissing to full on sex without even a quick hand job in the middle. He looked gorgeous naked, lovely, soft, pale skin with the candlelight making him all the more perfect. I wasn’t confident about my body but he looked at me like I was God. He touched me everywhere, stroking my shoulders, my hips, my ankles. When I touched him for the first time he smiled. Not a turned-on smile, just a happy smile. I’ll never forget that, he was just happy. He came in less than a minute but he didn’t care, he knew he could go all night if he wanted, and we did. We fucked for about three hours, then fell asleep and woke up and went for another two. He was a wreck the following morning, he was aching so much he couldn’t move, and I wasn’t much better. He said “Does it always feel like this after?” and I felt guilty, like he was regretting it. I ran him a bath and he was much better after that. It took ages to actually get inside him, he was so tight and he was still tense even though I tried everything to make him relax. I’m bigger than I think I am, I always forget how thick it is until someone’s right in front of me and I think it’s never going to go in. I know it hurt him at first and that’s why we didn’t do it for another month after that first time. I didn’t want to see that pained expression on his face, it made me feel sick. The more I tried to avoid fucking him the more he asked for it though, he got so confident so quick. I never really believed in all that “Oh it changes you” nonsense, it never changed me. But I could see it in Harry. It gave him a swagger, it made him artful in getting me worked up. It was too hard to resist in the end and after I gave up and took him back to mine again, during the day trying to avoid my parents, he took it a lot easier. I think he was just more relaxed around me, no more firsts left between us. 

After that Ann started to ask me round there more often. She invited me for dinner on Easter Sunday because my parents were going off to visit my sister. When I got there with my mid-priced bottle of Prosecco my mum had made me bring, Ann looked a bit panicked. Turns out that Harry’s auntie and uncle had had a leak in their kitchen, so they were coming here and bringing Harry’s grandparents. She was really sweet trying to explain that me and Harry should probably just ‘keep a lid on it’ for the duration of the meal, which was totally fine with me! I had no wish to start a sexual revolution in front of two seventy year olds. Harry had that typical teenage rebellion going on though, and he started dropping hints as soon as his grandparents got there. I was mortified, as was Ann, but Robin and Gemma thought it was hilarious. Harry’s uncle was a bit of a character and as soon as he had a few drinks he joined in. In the end I gave up and joined in too. Robin carved up the lamb and said “Are you bothered about breast meat Nick?” I said I could take it or leave it and everyone started laughing, including Harry’s grandma. Then Gemma chipped in that Harry used to like breast but he wasn’t bothered these days either, and Prosecco came out of Ann’s nose. Once Harry’s grandparents had been dropped off back at home we all went to the Lion and had a good laugh about it. That, I suppose, was Harry coming out to his family, and I liked being a part of it, I felt special. 

He got more beautiful by the day. He’s definitely one of those people, like me I hope, who grows into his face. He was cute when I met him, pretty and soft, but as he got older, even just by a year, he turned into such a stunner I was terrified that someone would take him off me. Looking back I was a bit of a dick at that time. I didn’t want to admit that I was jealous and insecure so I’d be passive aggressive instead. He’d say he was going out with his mates and I’d act all hurt, then when he said he’d forget it and stay with me instead I’d lie and say I had other plans. He wasn’t old enough to call me on it, so he’d just get confused and upset. Then I’d apologise and make a big fuss of him, then do the same thing a few weeks later. This Dick Period thankfully only lasted a couple of months before my mate Aimee called me on it. She accused me of being the manipulative older boyfriend and pointed out every little controlling thing I’d done. I was fucking horrified if I’m honest. I went straight round to Harry’s and that was when I gave him the jumper. I told him the story of how I’d bought it before we’d even spoken. I told him everything I’d been embarrassed to tell him before, how I’d written about his ‘lips like Christmas, eyes like Spring’, how I’d had goose pimples and felt sick when I saw him for the first time. I told him stuff which made me sound like a complete love-sick loser, and he was delighted. He hugged me really tight, he told me that he’d fallen in love with me on our first date. He wasn’t embarrassed about it, he was so happy that we were in love and we were being stupid together, that we weren’t cool or sophisticated. Looking at his face when he said that I knew I’d never leave him, ever. I knew he’d have to shatter my heart into tiny pieces to get rid of me. It was scary, knowing I couldn’t imagine being happy without him, but luckily I’ve never had to try.


	2. Harry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story, from Harry's point of view

The first time I saw him I got hard just looking. He looked like he’d fucking wreck me. I’d heard that in a porno literally a week before and the phrase had stuck in my head, featuring in every wank I had. Wreck me, I thought, just take me apart and make me scream. I’d never thought about my sexuality like that before. You don’t when you’re a boy and you start off mostly wanting girls. Boys are meant to be the ones doing the wrecking, we’re meant to be aggressive and powerful and I never really could reconcile that with how I was. But when I saw him, I realised I wanted to lie back and take it, like I’d heard women being told to do in the shit pornos that Niall nicked out of his older brother’s room. He looked like someone in a band out of the NME. His hair was curly but it was short at the sides, he had tight jeans on, and I’d never seen a boy in tight jeans in real life. Just wasn’t the thing in Holmes Chapel. He was so fit, I couldn’t stop looking at him, and he caught me. I smiled at him and thought he’d just roll his eyes and laugh at me, but he didn’t. He smiled back, and suddenly I didn’t feel like he was so much cooler than me. It knocked him right off his pedestal and it was probably for the best because I never would have dared go after him if I’d kept thinking of him as this cool, sex God type.

I thought about him every day. I thought about what his name might be, what his room might look like, what he kissed like. But after my mum found out I’d been in the pub that night she said I wasn’t to go back because it was illegal! I laughed at her and she didn’t like it so I got grounded for a few days, then I found out that everyone’s mum had said the same thing, even Louis and Zayn who were older than us had had their parents having a go about leading us younger ones astray! I was so annoyed at the thought that this fit guy might be in the pub and I couldn’t go in. One of my favourite fantasies about him at that time was where he helped me climb out of my window and took me off in his car to the Star and Garter in Manchester, giving me lovebites in the toilets on purpose so my mum would wonder where they came from. I imagined us getting caught holding hands by a gang of lagered-up lads in polo shirts and having to run for it, hiding behind a random garden wall and grinding up against each other, happy to be in one piece. 

It was October half term from college, three weeks after I’d seen him at the Railway. We went back, my mum and stepdad and my sister, for our lunch. I didn’t expect to see him, I hadn’t really wanted to go but my mum had whinged so I dragged on some jeans and a sweatshirt that still needed ironing and begrudgingly went out. I got this cold, sharp feeling in my chest when I actually saw him. He was back in his tight black jeans but with a red and black baggy jumper and a studded belt. I wondered what he was doing there, sat on his own and I let on to him but only because I knew I was staring. Just then the waitress came over and took us to a table, I nearly shoved Gemma to the floor trying to get to the seat that was in his eyeline. I looked up and he was staring right at me. I let myself stare back, I didn’t care anymore. I felt like this was the universe telling me that I’d fucked my last chance to speak to him and that this was the last opportunity it was going to give me. I was trying to listen to what my family were chattering about around me but I was hard as a rock and he was still staring. Suddenly he got up and my knee hit the table. He was walking right towards me and my heart started to pound in my chest worse than that day when I ate three meals at McDonald’s and got palpitations. He went past me and into the toilets and I thought, well, this is it. What was the worst that could happen? If he blanked me I could just pretend I needed the toilet, I mean, that’s what it’s there for. I jittered for a minute before I realised he wouldn’t be able to hang around in there long. I jumped up and went in there, and he was just standing at the sinks. His forehead was all wrinkled like he was nervous but my body was just crackling with electricity. This was the closest I’d been to him and he was gorgeous. 

I said something stupid like “Have I seen you here before?” or something. I wanted to slap myself, I felt so young and daft. He didn’t seem to notice though. It was so obvious we weren’t just being friendly, I was thinking about slamming him up against the wall and getting my fingers in those soft curls. But my family were there and going back out either with tears in my eyes after being rejected or with a damp patch over my jeans weren’t really good options. I told him it was half term, which was even more cringe, but he just smiled and said “I’ll be here on Friday night about seven.”

Mum could see there was something up when I got back to my seat but I just said my stomach was feeling a bit funny. She knew that was bullshit when I ate my steak and chips in about five minutes flat. Being horny and hungry always go hand in hand for me. Back at home I asked her could I go out on Friday if Louis and Zayn promised they wouldn’t let us drink. She was umming and ahing about it but later, much later, like at our wedding, she said she’d seen something in my face and she had to say yes. She knew it was to meet Nick. Of course I didn’t know this at the time, I just thought she’d gone soft. She said I had to be back by ten, which meant I wasn’t going to get laid, probably. That was still when I wanted to get laid. As soon as I started talking to him, I didn’t. It sounds weird - it wasn’t like I didn’t want him, I did. I wanked over him every night, his big brown eyes and his soft, thin lips and his big hands. I imagined him pushing into me, holding my wrists down, kissing my neck while he fucked me. But when we started talking I didn’t want that, not yet. I wanted to know him, I wanted him to care about me, I wanted him to come back afterwards. I couldn’t stand the thought of him fucking me and leaving me, so I made him wait, and wait, and wait.

On our first date at the pub, he made me laugh so much. I don’t think anyone’s ever made me laugh that much, not even Louis. He had a great laugh, like between a cough and a bark, and I loved it when I made him laugh. I wanted him to kiss me that night, but he couldn’t, there was no opportunity. The following day though, he texted and and asked did I want to come to his. I spent about an hour in the bathroom, using all my sister’s best stuff while everyone was at work. I had the longest shower I’d ever had, scrubbed myself all over, plucked my eyebrows again, exfoliated, toned, moisturised and everything. I wanted to be pretty for him, he calls it a kink, I don’t know that there’s even a name for it, but I just wanted him to look and me and find nothing wrong. When I got to his he took me up to his room and it was just how I imagined it. He had posters up of bands I’d never even heard of, his room smelled like aftershave and he’d tidied it up for me. I took my shoes off and waved him over to the bed. We lay there kissing for a minute then he stopped me. He was looking at me like he was confused, then he kissed me again, and stopped again. I asked him if there was something wrong and he just said “No, just...Just copy what I do. When we’re kissing, I’ll show you.” I was fucking mortified. I was a bad kisser! I felt ill, I wanted to cry. I thought that, whatever happened, I’d never see him again. He’d be nice to me, then after I was gone he wouldn’t text me back, wouldn’t answer my calls, I’d see him in the pub but he’d blank me and I’d hear him and his friends laugh at me when my back was turned. 

Of course, none of that ever happened. I relaxed, I copied what he did, and after a few minutes it was really good, like the best kiss I’d ever had. I made a mental note to punch Zayn because he’d kissed me for practise and said it was okay. Can’t believe he lied to me! I got him back on my stag night because I made him kiss every bloke there so I could see if he had been lying or whether he was just a shit kisser himself. (He’d been lying). 

Niall once asked me if I was intimidated by Nick and his mates, because he was. I was at first, I thought I wouldn’t be able to keep up with their conversation, I wouldn’t know the bands and films and TV shows they talked about. At one terrifying point Aimee asked me what kind of music I liked. I was considering lying and saying someone like The Flaming Lips or Nirvana, but in the end I was honest and I said James Taylor. She said she thought James Taylor was great and Nick squeezed my hand. Then we were all talking about old singer songwriters and I knew all about that, thanks to my parents. I’ve never been so relieved. I felt like it was a big responsibility to be Nick’s boyfriend - he was the big personality in the group, the one they all gravitated to. I didn’t want to come across as being too boring or too young. Luckily they were all really nice to me, I think they knew how much he liked me, and I wasn’t objectionable or anything. There was this one guy, on the periphery of their friend group, who always tried to have a sly dig at me, and never when Nick could hear him. It was obvious he wanted Nick, he didn’t even try and hide it. Nick’s natural flirtiness meant that sometimes it looked like Johnny was his boyfriend and not me, and that hurt. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to be the whiny kid in the relationship. I think Ian actually said something to Nick in the end, because Johnny stopped hanging out with us, and the next time we were out with them Nick held my hand extra tight and kept complimenting me. It was quite sweet, really.

I thought about sleeping with Nick almost constantly. I realised that by the time of my 18th birthday, we’d have been seeing each other for exactly three months. I thought that was about right. I asked my mum if I could stay with a friend after my party, and she said straight out “Do you love him?” I was so shocked that I just said “Yes.” She looked at me for ages and then said “Alright, but you know what I’m going to say.” I assumed it was ‘be safe’ so I just nodded. Who knows, maybe she meant ‘make sure you practise blowjobs because you’re probably rubbish at them too’.

I’d already told Nick I loved him, on Christmas Eve. He told me he loved me on Christmas morning. I told him at midnight and he told me at one minute past. It was dead romantic but we couldn’t even kiss because we were in the Railway and it was packed. He kissed me in the porch when he dropped me off at home. Knowing he loved me was important to me when we slept together, it was so much nicer when he was whispering it to me while I was trying not to cry out with pain! I’ve never told him just how much it hurt when we did it the first time. I’d heard it hurt, from this mate of Louis, but he said it was a good pain, like a burning which felt good after a while. All I know is that when Nick pushed into me with three fingers I wanted to scream, and then it felt better straight away, but when he actually got his dick inside me it was so painful! I was swallowing hard and trying to breathe, but I honestly didn’t think I could go through with it. It did get better, but it still hurt every time that night. Not that it stopped me. I loved giving this to him, I felt like it was the best compliment I could pay him. After that night I just couldn’t even think about getting fucked again until I stretched myself a bit, so I begged Louis to let me use his credit card and bought a dildo off the internet, along with a half litre bottle of lube with a pump action. It was fun trying to hide all that stuff in my bedroom but I think I managed it. At least my mum has never mentioned it. It was about a month after my birthday, I went round to Nick’s and, for want of a better word, seduced him. I was really confident this time that I could enjoy every second of it, and I did. I made him lie down so I could ride him, and I could see he was a bit surprised at how I managed to prep myself really easily, then put the condom on him and fuck myself nice and steadily. He was looking at me like I’d been possessed. This time it felt amazing. I’d discovered my prostate, unlike Nick! I’ve never told him this but he didn’t find mine the first time even though I said he did. 

Nick always feels guilty about that time in April and May that he acted a bit jealous. Honestly I don’t even remember it. He was giving me mixed signals a bit and acting moody, but I never doubted for a second that he loved me. That night he came round with the jumper and told me all the stuff he felt when we first met, I thought he was dying or something! He just laid all of his insecurities out and told me he was totally and utterly gone over me. He said that if he ever made me feel sad I had to say “Are you asking for your jumper back?” I laughed at him and he laughed cause it was such a dramatic and stupid thing to say. I’ve never said it. I doubt I ever will.


End file.
